


second sun came past the glass

by heroics



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Face Slapping, Homies can be together forever, Light Angst, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:31:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22079335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heroics/pseuds/heroics
Summary: It’s not normal, at least not for Nolan, to want someone in all these cracked-open ways.
Relationships: Travis Konecny/Nolan Patrick
Comments: 29
Kudos: 441





	second sun came past the glass

**Author's Note:**

> This is completely a work of fiction with no bearing on reality; I’m fine with sharing on Tumblr and in private chats, but please don’t link it publicly on Twitter, where real people live. If you’re here somehow by googling yourself or people you know, well — don’t say anything, won’t be anything.
> 
> Takes place after the Dec. 3, 2019 game against the Leafs.

When TK glances at him across the elevator, Nolan leans against the wall and lets himself stare back. They start going up, agonizingly slow, dinging past each level. He really hopes nobody else comes in. 

They’re not touching now, but TK had his hand high up on Nolan’s thigh the whole ride over. And like — they haven’t done more than really rushed handjobs in two weeks, and TK looked hot as shit on the ice tonight, so Nolan had motioned Kevin over after the game and said, “I’m going home with Teeks.” Kevin knew the score. He rolled his eyes and told Nolan he’d see him later.

“I wanted you to fuck me in the press box,” Nolan says now, just for the way TK actually jolts, as if shocked. “I didn’t move for the whole third period. I was hard enough that I knew I couldn’t stand up without everybody seeing.”

“Yeah?” TK says. His eyes are locked on Nolan’s now, and his mouth is open a little. His stupid goatee. Nolan loves him, probably. 

Normally he isn’t so forthcoming with the dirty talk. Normally he doesn’t feel this desperate, though, and he thinks it’s allowed: TK really did have an incredible game tonight, and it did get Nolan hard in the press box, and it’s just been a while. 

So — “Yeah,” he says. 

“Didn’t know my hockey got you so hot, bud.”

Nolan rolls his eyes. “Yes, you did.”

“Yes, I did.” TK’s grin is predatory. The button dings for his floor, and the doors can’t open fast enough. 

Their sex life — Nolan feels old even using the phrase — is erratic at best, what with his unreliable head and no longer living in the same building and the craziness of an NHL schedule. So it’s a thrill to look at TK, see his smirk and the way he won’t stop dragging his gaze over Nolan’s body, and know exactly what they’ll be doing tonight. 

“It was a great game,” Nolan says, following TK into his apartment. That dumbass use-kind-words sign is still up. If it hadn’t been a present from TK’s mom, Nolan would have burned it by now.

TK’s already flinging off his suit jacket and undoing his tie. “Yeah, it was,” he says. He’s got that little sideways smirk on; pretty soon it’ll probably be the same full-blown Cheshire grin that appears whenever he’s about to get in a fight, the one that appeared tonight when TK was sizing up Tyson Barrie, of all people. “You like my goal?”

“I like everything you do, asshole,” Nolan says, way too honest. TK’s eyes are wide when they meet Nolan’s again across the living room, and Nolan figures — fuck, he’s already showing more emotions tonight than he’s normally comfortable with. “Trav. I miss hockey.”

“I know, bud.” TK holds his arms out where he’s standing in front of the couch. “Come here.”

Nolan goes over and lets TK tuck himself into his chest. Just so they don’t get too off-course, he takes TK’s hands and moves them to his own ass. He feels TK huff a laugh against him. They stay like that for a minute, or an hour, who the fuck knows, until Nolan can breathe and feel less like he’s going to fall apart. 

“You told Hayesy you were coming with me, yeah?” TK asks, breaking the silence. The thing TK’s best at doing. Well. The second or third best thing.

“He’s not my dad,” Nolan says, but he huffs and relents when TK says nothing else. “Yeah, I told him.”

“Good.” TK is weird, sometimes, about the living-with-Kevin situation, even though they both agreed it’s the best option right now. It’s like TK thinks he still has to prove he’s Nolan’s number-one pick. He leans back and looks up at Nolan. “Kiss me?”

Nolan does. 

//

They undress in bursts down the hallway, and by the time TK’s finagled his bedroom door open behind Nolan’s back, Nolan is down to his underwear and half-hard. They say a lot of stupid things. 

Like: “Fucking fuck,” TK says, his mouth pressed to Nolan’s pulse point. Nolan buries his fingers in TK’s hair — probably like a million split ends that need tending to — and lets himself be pushed into the bedroom. 

And: “I missed you,” Nolan says nonsensically when TK gets him on his back on the unmade bed and crawls over him.

And: “I missed you too.” TK breathes it into the turn of Nolan’s jaw. So they’re both sappy fucks: fine. At least they’re at even strength there, Nolan thinks. 

Then it becomes difficult to think about anything at all, because TK wrestles off his underwear and Nolan’s, and presses them together again. The hard line of TK’s dick against his will never get old. Nolan stutters out a sigh, and TK says, “What do you want, Pats?”

The room is just this side of cool, and Nolan blinks at the ceiling fan whirring above them. He can — he can feel his arousal throbbing in the palms of his hands, which is a new level of desperate, one he hasn’t felt in probably months. 

“Fuck me,” he finally says. Shifts his hips a little just to watch the way TK’s mouth drops open. “I wasn’t kidding about the press box.”

“_Jesus_,” TK says, dragging it out into practically a whole sentence. “You’re a slut for good hockey, eh?”

_Eh_. Nolan reaches up and digs his thumbs into the spaces behind TK’s ears. “You sound like the worst Canadian porn in the world.”

TK leans into the press of Nolan’s thumbs, just for a second, like a cat. “What kind of weird shit are you watching, anyway?”

Nolan tweaks TK’s nipple, watches how it makes him twitch, rolls his hips again. God, that feels so good, the heat zipping up Nolan’s spine. “Who gives a shit. Fuck me.”

“Fine, fine. Turn over, baby.”

Fucking finally. TK gets off the bed and goes rooting around in the bedside table drawer, presumably for a condom and lube, and Nolan rolls onto his stomach, rests his cheek on the cool pillow. It takes a lot of self-control not to hump the bed as if he’s back in juniors watching porn on mute. Regular porn, not whatever Team Canada shit TK’s imagining. “Hurry up.”

“Where’s the romance anymore?” TK says, and Nolan feels the bed dip under his weight. He starts to twist back around. “I’m kidding, Pats. It’s so hot, how much you want it. Makes me crazy. I’d fuck you in that press box, baby.”

Nolan snorts. Then TK’s touching his back, and Nolan shivers and goes still. TK spreads his cheeks with his hands. Fucking Christ — Nolan barely has time to feel exposed, to feel the shock of air, before TK is licking across his hole. 

“Oh _fuck_,” he moans, all shuddery, trying not to break TK’s face by shoving his hips back or something. He’s only done this to him a couple of times, and each time made Nolan feel like he was going to vibrate right out of his skin. “Trav.”

“Nolan,” TK says, pulling back just enough to trail open-mouthed kisses along the crease between Nolan’s ass and thigh. Nolan can feel his stubble, and he can’t help himself; he squirms, trying to get TK’s mouth back where he wants it without actually begging for it. TK gets the picture, thank God, and fucking — spits on Nolan’s hole, absolutely disgusting, and gets him all wet. _Fuck._ Nolan grinds into the bed. He doesn’t know why it feels different to want this than it does to want to be fucked. He’s not, like, ashamed. It’s just different. 

TK holds him open, alternates between pushing his tongue in and doing these broad, sloppy passes. It’s at once too much and not enough. Nolan’s dick is caught against the sheets, and when he tries to thrust into the bed again, desperate, TK puts a palm on the flat of his back and holds him there. Nolan lifts his head and kicks his feet around behind him until he catches TK’s shoulder. Weighs the pros and cons of sounding needy and decides it’s worth it. “Fucking — get a move on. I want your dick.”

“_Patty_,” TK says in this really unattractive whine. Well, it should be unattractive, anyway. Nolan feels teeth dig into his ass cheek, and he hisses. “Don’t rush me, baby. I need some quality time back here.”

“I can’t stand you.”

“You don’t have to stand anything, Pat, you’re lying down.” 

“Jesus,” Nolan mutters. He puts his face back on the pillow. TK can do whatever he wants. 

What TK wants, it turns out, is to drive Nolan slowly crazy by fucking into him with his tongue. When he pulls back again, some indeterminate time later, Nolan is wordless and shaking, making embarrassing noises. He lets TK turn him over and spread his hands across Nolan’s chest. 

“Fuck you,” he gasps when TK’s fingers drag over his nipples. 

“You hate asking for me to eat you out,” TK says, and Nolan feels himself flush just at the way the words sound. “But I know you love it.” His mouth is wet, his eyes blown black. He looks fucking obscene. Nolan feels furious, for a second, that anyone else has ever gotten to see TK like this: all sex-stupid and debauched. He yanks him down and kisses him hard to make up for it. 

“Fuck me,” he says against TK’s swollen lips. “Fuck me already, Teeks, it’s been way too long. I’m asking for that.”

TK bites at him. “What’s the rush?”

Nolan whines and tries valiantly not to be embarrassed about it, but he can feel his face heating up again. He snaps, “Weren’t you just saying you needed quality time with my ass?”

“That was ten fucking minutes ago, Pat. Keep up.” As if TK really isn’t going to fuck him. He’s a 22-year-old hockey player: he can only put off getting his dick wet for so long before it becomes a national emergency. 

Fine, then. Nolan slides his fist loosely over his own cock, thumbs across the head and spreads the wetness around. It’s such a relief it almost hurts. “Travis. I’m about to just do it myself.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” TK says, grabbing Nolan’s wrist and pulling his hand away from his dick. Typical. Nolan doesn’t know how to say any more clearly that he needs this, he needs to feel TK pushing into him and fucking him senseless, so he sits up, pushes TK to the headboard, and climbs onto his lap.

“Finger me,” he says. “Or I really will do it, and you can just watch.”

“Okay, okay, I’m on it,” TK says. Because he’s actually an old man, he adds, “Put _that_ idea in your back pocket, though, eh?” There’s the familiar _snick_ of a bottle being opened. “I just don’t want it to be over fast, Pat.”

“So don’t come too early,” Nolan says. “Easy.”

“Jerk.” TK lubes up his fingers and slides one into Nolan. It’s good; it’s not nearly enough. 

“Give me two, I can take it,” he says, rocking a little into TK’s hips. 

“Fucking—” TK says. 

“Exactly.” Nolan closes his eyes. 

It feels like they’ve been going forever when TK finally pulls his fingers out, fumbles the condom onto his dick, turns them back over and arranges Nolan’s legs around his waist. “Is this good?”

Nolan feels a sudden and unexpected wave of tenderness toward him, so strong he almost wishes he could turn away from it. 

“It’s great, Teeks,” he says instead. “Be better if you got in me.”

TK laughs and pushes in, and Nolan’s head empties of anything but the sensation, filling him up so good. He moans and scrabbles for a grip on TK’s shoulders, which — _fuck_ — flex underneath his hands. 

“God, Patty,” TK says. He’s got this dumb look on his face, eyebrows furrowed and mouth hanging open. “You feel so good, so fucking tight, perfect for me—”

He truly never shuts up. It’s comforting, in a way. And also hot. Not that Nolan would say that to him. 

He shifts his hips up into TK’s thrusts, trying to get the angle right. When his dick slides against TK’s stomach, he gasps and clenches, and TK makes this sound almost like a shout. 

“Don’t come,” Nolan says, “don’t come—”

“I’m _not_,” TK says in this shuddery voice. It’s hard to believe that Nolan thought having sex was intense before TK. That was nothing. “Have a little faith, Patty, Christ.”

Nolan’s too far gone to be embarrassed about the way he sobs wetly when TK nails his prostate. “Right there, right there,” he gasps, digging his fingers into TK’s shoulderblades. Suddenly he needs — he needs something they’ve only done once before, and that time, TK had been weirdly shy about asking, worried about Nolan’s head. Nolan’s going to have to be a person about this. He swallows and opens his eyes, blinks the tears out of them. “Travis. Can you.”

“Anything, baby,” TK says. He’s panting into the air between them. Nolan needs. 

“Slap me,” he says, grits it out before he loses his nerve. “Uh. In the face.”

TK’s rhythm stutters, and Nolan hisses. “_Patty_,” he says. “Nolan. Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Nolan says, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. TK’s barely moving anymore, just doing these twitches of his hips. “It’s not like a punishment thing or something, I promise. I just want it.”

TK studies him for a second, and then something resolves in his expression. He nods and starts to pull back, but Nolan tightens his legs around TK’s waist. “Don’t move. Just like this.”

“Jesus,” TK says. He licks his lips. “Your face is already so red, Pat, it’s gonna, like—” He makes some weird and incomprehensible hand gesture. Whatever. At least Nolan’s not the only one made dumb by this tonight.

“So do it,” Nolan says. 

TK thumbs the hair out of Nolan’s face, starts rocking into him again — slowly, slowly — and flexes his fingers, and then, fuck, _fuck_, he slaps Nolan across the face. 

Nolan moans and arches up helplessly, chasing the sting. “Travis, _God_ — again.”

“You want it so bad,” TK says, sounding almost awed, like Nolan’s doing anything special. He touches Nolan’s right cheek, which throbs a little, and then he slaps Nolan’s left cheek, not as hard — the angle’s tougher — but Nolan still, still—

“Fuck,” he gasps. He squirms up into it, the double sensation of his stinging face and TK fucking him open in shallow, erratic thrusts. He drops his feet to the bed so he can plant them there and get some leverage. “One more.”

“One more,” TK agrees. He’s stopped moving altogether. He strokes Nolan’s cheek again, fingers trembling, and Nolan stares up at him and whimpers when TK slaps his right cheek again. He’s hot and on edge, he wants to be good, he needs TK to know— 

“Thank you,” he mumbles. He turns and kisses TK’s hand sloppily. “Thank you, holy shit.”

“I love you, I love you,” TK says, all wild-eyed. He starts fucking him in earnest again. Christ fucking God. Nolan has never felt for anybody like this. TK makes him want to do insane things: tie him up and ride him, fuck his mouth under the table at a team dinner, be with him forever. It’s not normal, at least not for Nolan, to want someone in all these cracked-open ways. 

He squeezes his eyes shut. He’s going to cramp soon if he stays in this position much longer, but who the fuck cares; he’s close. 

“You’re so good,” TK’s muttering into Nolan’s neck. He drops his weight onto one elbow, reaches up with his other hand and cradles Nolan’s face, almost unbearably gentle, where the skin is still hot and tender. It’s all Nolan can do to bite TK’s shoulder and finally come.

It feels like it lasts forever, and he shakes underneath TK, making noises he’s never heard from himself. Fucking fuck. Nobody’s ever seen him like this. He wouldn’t have let anybody, before. 

TK slows. “Can I—?”

“Still a little,” Nolan gasps, his too-sensitive dick sliding against TK’s tensed abs as he trembles through the last of it. “Teeks. Keep going. I wanna feel it.”

TK groans. “Gonna kill me, Patty.” It’s only a few short, hard strokes before he’s coming, too, whining and nosing against the underside of Nolan’s jaw.

Nolan rubs TK’s back as he comes down, as he pulls out shakily and ties off the condom. Tosses it somewhere, hopefully the wastebasket. Neither of them speaks for a full five minutes. 

“Was that good?” TK eventually asks, rolling just far enough away that his weight isn’t all on top of Nolan. 

“Quit fishing for a compliment,” Nolan says, but raps his knuckles on TK’s shoulder nonetheless. “It was good. I needed that. Was it, like. Was it too much?”

“Nah. It was great. You’re hot as shit, Patty, you’re perfect.” TK studies him and then leans up to kiss his forehead. What the hell is Nolan supposed to do with that? He doesn’t know. “Does your face feel okay?”

Nolan nods. 

“Do _you_ feel okay?”

“Yeah.” Nolan wraps his arms around TK and they lie there, miraculously quiet again. TK is warm and a little sweaty, his dumbass facial hair scratchy against Nolan’s collarbone. 

After a minute, TK makes some noise about cleaning up and getting Gatorades, telling Nolan to “just stay right there, Patty.” So he does, watching TK’s ass shamelessly, and when TK comes back Nolan lets himself be cleaned off with a warm, damp cloth. It used to bother him that TK liked taking care of him afterward. He’s not sure what it says, these days, that he’s started to like it too. 

After they put sleep clothes on and brush their teeth, leaning on each other, Nolan turns the bedroom light out and says, “Day off tomorrow.”

“Mm,” says TK, clearly close to passing out. He played a game tonight, after all. “Plans?”

“Order food and beat you at Call of Duty,” Nolan says. He stretches out on the bed. “I’d make a great WAG, eh? I basically am one this season. Functionally.”

“Nolan,” TK says. “Don’t say that.” He burrows in next to him.

“I know.” It’s an ongoing argument, that Nolan shouldn’t be so self-deprecating about being out indefinitely. Mostly Nolan believes him. Usually. 

“You’re gonna come back this season.”

“Yeah.” Nolan holds his breath. If TK says anything else, tries to hype him up or comfort him any more, it’ll start to feel like pity, and Nolan can’t handle that. 

TK knows all of Nolan’s limits by now, though, and when to push them, when to leave them alone. He doesn’t say anything else: just puts his head on Nolan’s chest and lets him dig his fingers into TK’s hair until they fall asleep. 

//

“What if I don’t ever come back?” Nolan asks in the morning, keeping his eyes trained on the wall. It’s important. 

TK’s hand stills in his hair. They’ve been lying here for an hour, and there’s a bite mark on TK’s shoulder from last night that Nolan only feels a little guilty about leaving. 

“Then you don’t come back,” TK says. “And you figure out something else.” He taps his fingers against the back of Nolan’s neck, and Nolan has to resist the urge to list pathetically over onto him. “I had a dream one time that you were a tattoo artist. That might be fun.”

If he’s trying to distract Nolan, it’s working. A tattoo artist, Jesus. “What? Did I give you a tattoo in the dream?”

“No,” TK says, and cuts his eyes at him sideways, clearly brewing mischief. “You gave me a handjob.”

“That’s a fucking boring sex dream,” Nolan says, even as he gives in to what he wants, leaning over and kissing TK’s neck. He’s trying to do that more often these days. Do things because he wants to, or because they feel good. 

TK tilts his jaw to give him room, and his breath hitches a little. “I know, right. Gonna make it up to me?”

Nolan snorts. “Not my fault your subconscious is so boring.” He’s just saying it to say it. They both know. Still, it’s fun chirping TK like this; it’s normal. 

He ends up blowing TK on his stomach, staring up at him the whole time. He lets TK come down his throat even though normally he doesn’t love swallowing. He just — wants it, wants all of TK in him. 

“Jesus,” TK says afterward, chest heaving. He’s still wearing a sleep shirt, and he looks kind of ridiculous with his dick softening against his thigh. He blinks down at Nolan. “Jesus, bud.”

“Better than the tattoo artist sex dream?” Nolan asks. He knows how he looks, cheeks pink and lips slick, eyelashes clumped together. Fuck dream-Nolan. A _handjob_, seriously. 

“Always,” TK says, which barely makes sense. “You — always, Pat.”

What Nolan really wants to ask is, _Am I the version of me that you want?_ But you can’t just say that to another person. Instead, he rests his cheek on TK’s thigh. “I’m not a fucking tattoo artist.”

“I know.”

“I’m a hockey player.”

“I know, Pat.”

“You better,” Nolan says. He kisses the trail of hair below TK’s belly button. Nobody else sees TK like this. Nobody else ever will if Nolan gets his way. Things have historically not gone Nolan’s way, but this feels different. He puts his head back on TK’s thigh and lets himself breathe.

**Author's Note:**

> And then TK got a concussion and was surely peer pressured to spend some time himself in the Hayes House for Hurt Homies. Title from “715 CREEKS” by Bon Iver. 
> 
> I’m restacks on Tumblr; come say hi!


End file.
